


A Wedding at Collinwood

by melissa286



Category: Dark Shadows (1966)
Genre: Children, Curses, F/M, Family, Gen, Ghosts, Melancholy, Memories, Quentin Collins & Amy Jennings, Weddings, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:08:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27677167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissa286/pseuds/melissa286
Summary: Quentin visits his great-granddaughter Amy on the morning of her wedding to David Collins to offer his support.
Relationships: David Collins/Amy Jennings
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	A Wedding at Collinwood

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to be one chapter of a longer work, which I have come to the realization I will almost certainly never write. But I think the emotional heart of the piece is in this one chapter, so I decided to brush it off, spruce it up, and publish it as a one-shot. Any feedback is more than welcome!
> 
> (I've tagged all the characters who are mentioned, even though only three characters actually appear in the story. I hope that's not too misleading.)

_Collinwood. Saturday, June 13, 1981_

Quentin held a deep breath as he raised his hand and softly knocked on the door. In the 1890's, this door had led to the bedroom of his young niece, Nora Collins. Today the room was occupied by his great-granddaughter, Amy Jennings, who even now prepared for her wedding within the silence of its walls. Today, in less than an hour, Amy was to be married to Nora's great-nephew, David Collins – David, the young heir to the Collins name and now, to all its secrets and curses.

The doors and windows of the great house, shut for so long to all but a select few, were flung open to light and air and a hundred or so guests. They were filling the drawing-room below at the moment. For days now, all the heavy old furniture had been carried out of it and the adjoining formal dining room that had sat unused for fifty years. The paneled folding doors that connected the two rooms had had to be well-oiled before they would open and create a space large enough to accommodate today's onlookers. Rugs were rolled up, and the floors were scrubbed, polished, and filled with an army of rented gilt chairs that sat in ranks facing the painted visage of Jeremiah Collins, who frowned down at them from behind two hundred years of smoky residue.

“Who is it?” came a soft voice from behind the polished oak.

“It's Cousin Quentin. May I come in? I'd like to talk to you for a minute.”

There was a brief pause, just long enough to make him wonder if she'd refuse to see him, then a quiet, “Come in.”

He turned the knob and pushed the door, sticking his head through the small opening. The room was brighter and airier since the last time he'd seen it. There was no fire, and the scrubbed grate held a basket of dried flowers and some white-bleached driftwood. The lace curtains and the east-facing windows were wide open, and the lamps held the brightest bulbs the old wiring could safely support. The rug covering the narrow floorboards was woven in shades of cream and light green, picking up the color of the houseplants scattered around in brightly-painted pots.

Amy sat at a dressing table between the windows, in the ivory lace gown that Miss Eleanor Talbott of Boston had worn to marry Quentin's nephew Jamison Collins in 1915. Quentin had been shown a yellowed cabinet photograph of the young couple by Jamison's daughter Elizabeth years ago. Past and present were meeting for him in all sorts of expected and unexpected ways today. Eleanor had been a proud blond society beauty; Quentin thought the image in the picture couldn't hold a candle to the sweet vision before him. Amy's straight brown hair was swept into a large Gibson knot at the crown of her head, circled with a wreath of myrtle and orange blossoms. A soft veil of translucent blonde lace hung down her straight back and pooled on the carpet behind her. He could feel his heart in his throat as she turned impossibly huge, dark eyes up to him and smiled a small, almost sad smile.

“Come in, Quentin, Sit down.”

He tiptoed in, not wanting even the creak of a floorboard to spoil the hush of the moment. He'd been told that his own daughter, his lost Lenore, had looked like her mother – that she'd been tall and auburn-haired, that she'd been married in a courthouse, to a poor young farmer, with no family present. At the time, when he was still as young as he appeared to be, he had thought the only way to save his sanity had been to put as much distance as possible between himself and the remains of the Collins family. Now he wished he could go back and give his child the grand society wedding that awaited them downstairs. He flipped up the tails of his morning coat and perched on the edge of a wingback chair.

“You are the most beautiful bride I've ever seen, Amy. That young scamp is a very lucky man.”

Amy pursed her lips and turned toward him on her stool. “You didn't come up here just to say that.”

“No, no, but it had to be said.” 

“You're not so bad yourself, Quentin,” she sighed. “You look like you were born wearing a tailcoat.”

He coughed to cover a sudden attack of nerves. “Well, not _quite._ It wouldn't fit over my diapers.”

“I think I know what you wanted to talk about.”

“Yes.” He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and searching her face. “Julia said she spoke to you last night. To you and David both.” There. It was out.

“She did,” said Amy, breathing deeply and setting down the hairpins she had been holding. “She told me about... about the other Quentin. That he was my great-grandfather as well as yours, that he was cursed, that he transformed into a wolf on the full moon, and that's what happened...” She closed her eyes and collected herself. “That's what happened to Chris. Because he was the oldest son. And that if David and I have children it will happen to them.”

“It _might_ happen,” Quentin added quickly. “We might still find a cure, or you might have a daughter...”

“My grandmother only had a daughter, and that didn't end the curse, did it? And it must have happened in your family, too. Did you have an older brother? Is that why the moon doesn't affect you?”

Quentin rubbed his face. “Yes, I had two older brothers. They're both dead.” It wasn't a lie. Even before the curse and the subsequent gift of immortality had made it necessary, he'd been a master of telling lies that weren't _really_ lies. He and Julia truly were kindred spirit in that regard; when he'd gone to her and said, “We have to tell them _some version of the truth,_ ” it hadn't occurred to either of them for a moment to simply tell the _whole_ truth. But even David and Amy, as much as supernatural events had shaped their young lives, would surely have had trouble swallowing such a large pill on the eve of their happiness. So Quentin and Julia had come up with a story that seemed a bit easier, both to tell and to hear. _Frailty, thy name is Collins._

“Funny how finding out that David and I are related isn't the reason we shouldn't have children,” Amy continued with a bitter laugh. “We both wanted to have children right away. The Collins name. The Collins bloodline. I offered to let him go. He was insulted.”

He saw her begin to blink hard, and handed her a handkerchief. She took it and dabbed at her eyes as she turned back to the mirror. “I swore I wouldn't cry. I'm already wearing a pound and a half of makeup.”

“It doesn't show. You look perfect.” Having resisted the impulse long enough, he stood and moved behind her, gently squeezing her shoulders.” “It's going to be fine. _You're_ going to be fine. You love each other, and you're going to figure everything out. And Julia and I aren't going to give up, either. As soon as we heard about your engagement, Julia dug out all her old notes from when she was working with Chris. Maybe there's something we missed.”

Amy finished dabbing and and looked up at him in the mirror. “You're right. Of course, we'll work it out. I'm just a little emotional today. It was... it was a lot to hear last night. Here,” she reached up to hand him back the now-damp handkerchief.

“I've got another. I'd never come to a wedding without a spare. Listen, Amy...” He sat back down and looked her in the face. “We came as soon as we got your invitations. If we hadn't both been traveling, we would have been able to come and tell you sooner. I'm sorry you had to hear it like that. But there's more.”

“More?” She turned her stool to face him, crushing the gloves in her lap in pale hands. “What more?”

“I talked to Maggie. She's here, but Joe's not coming. I know you asked him to give you away.”

“I didn't expect him to come. I really didn't. The last time he was here, it was...” She fussed with a powder compact before continuing. “Well, it's not a good memory for either of us. And I know he doesn't approve of me marrying into Collinwood. But I had to ask him, just in case.”

“Good. I don't like thinking of you being disappointed. And I also want you to know – I tried to find Chris. Even before I knew about you and David. I hired investigators, but they came up with nothing.” 

Her eyes grew shiny with more unshed tears. “Thank you. I know you and he didn't always get along, and I doubt he would have approved any more than Joe does. But it would have been nice to have him here today. He's suffered so much.”

Quentin bowed his head. “It was the very least I could do.” Another true statement that covered a well of lies. But what good would it do to confess his guilt now? “Anyway, the reason I'm saying all this now is that... “ He looked up again, his blue eyes meeting her dark ones. “I would be so honored if you would let me walk you down. Besides Chris and Joe, I _am_ your closest relative, after all. I understand if you'd rather not, but if a second cousin will do...”

“Yes. Yes, Quentin, that would be very nice.” Her smile lit up the room. “Roger did offer, but it's strange enough with the family of the groom giving the wedding, and he should be there to walk Elizabeth in. They've both done so much. Look at the bouquet – it's all from Elizabeth's greenhouse. Those pink and white roses are the _Josette Collins_ hybrids that won the county prize last year.”

He leaned over to inspect the spray of flowers that nearly covered the narrow, lace-draped bed. “Funny, they don't smell like jasmine,” he remarked with a smile.

“We asked Willie Loomis if he could open up the Old House and bring her portrait here for the wedding, but he said it might damage it to take it out of its setting. But I'm sure she'll be here today anyway. She's always looked after David.” 

Quentin smiled. “And now she'll look after you both. And I'll give her a hand whenever I can.” He gave his hand now to his great-granddaughter and raised her from the stool. “My, my, my. Look at you, all grown up.” 

She looked like a Collins, he thought. He had heard someone downstairs joke about David and Amy looking like brother and sister, and it wasn't far off the mark. He wondered what his granddaughter, Chris and Amy's – _and Tom's, that was the other boy's name_ \- mother, had looked like. Had she resembled Lenore or him? _Blood will out,_ Grandmama had always said, usually clucking over some neighbor's indiscretion. Was her ghost still haunting this place, too? He doubted it. Any unfinished business her spirit had had in his youth was long laid to rest with the satisfied dead. Today was for the living.

The aristocratic tones of Roger Collins rang out in the corridor. “Are you ready, my dear?” Amy crossed to the door, pulling on her gloves, and opened it to reveal her future father-in-law, elegant and immaculate in his gray coat and striped trousers. He beamed at her, clapping his gloved hands together. “I swear, you look better in that dress than my own mother, and I don't care if she's listening up there,” he said, rolling his pale eyes heavenward. “Everybody's waiting to get a look at you, including that totally undeserving son of mine!”

“I'm ready,” Amy laughed, “but you should go sit with Elizabeth. Quentin's going to walk me down.” She stretched out one gloved hand, which Quentin took and squeezed lightly to his heart, with a smile.

“Well, well. I'd better be going, then,” drawled Roger, sounding a bit disappointed. “But you can console me with a kiss.” He bent and deposited a light kiss on her forehead before turning crisply on one heel and heading for the stairs.

“What was it Alice Roosevelt said?” chuckled Quentin. “He'd like to be the bride at every wedding, the baby at every christening, and the corpse at every funeral.”

“I suppose it is a bit of a show,” said Amy, picking up her trailing bouquet from the bed. “Come and see the crazy Collins family on display. I guess I couldn't run from it now if I wanted to.”

“And why would you want to?” asked Quentin, lifting her chin with one finger. “It's the greatest show on Earth! And today, you're the star.”

He thought of the first time he'd seen Jenny, Lenore's mother, on that little stage in New York, the lamplight gleaming in her auburn hair. He'd been transfixed, enchanted, even before her rich singing voice had begun to fill the room. He'd had to have her, for better or for worse. It had been a long time since she'd appeared to him, and he hoped her spirit was now enjoying the peace he'd kept from her in life. But he also hoped she could see this, the beautiful fruit of their union, heading downstairs on his arm.


End file.
